


Two Halves of a Brain Coming Together to Form One Full Idiot

by wqlfstar



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Self-Harm, Spideypool - Freeform, Suicide, because what else would it be, he obviously comes back but i don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable/surprised y’know, i love it, is a given, literally all gay for now, so much gay, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 02:28:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wqlfstar/pseuds/wqlfstar
Summary: Everything is an ungodly mess and Peter is trying his best to deal with it. But occasionally, he messes up. And guess who's there every time he does?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distractedmarauder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractedmarauder/gifts).



> welcome to the series where peter & wade screw up exponentially & we all laugh about it ! i hope you enjoy it

Peter hates touching his eyes.

And it wasn't as if he could put on his glasses over his suit, and definitely not under.

Which led to him miscalculating a web shot and slinging himself into a dumpster. Also known as his greatest downfall (if you're not counting the time he tried the hottest hot sauce in a Taco Bell to try to impress a girl and ended up throwing up all over the both of them in a shared cab).

He laid there for a moment, wallowing in self-pity and mortification before a familiar voice said, "Well, I'll be damned; if it isn't everyone's favorite spandex-wearing activist going dumpster diving! But, uh, I hate to break it to you, Magnus, a buddy of mine- real scrawny dude, you'd like him- ransacked that one a few hours ago."

Peter quickly scrambled out of the dumpster, pulling his slightly askew mask back into place.

"Deadpool," he greeted, almost having the nonchalant tone he was going for (not really, but let's allow him that much). In reality, he sounded out of breath and kind of high-pitched compared to the cool and casual guy about fifteen feet away from him. "What're- what're you doing here?"

There was a pause. "Oh, you know me. I like to spend my days popping in and out of dark alleyways, especially those with the oh-so-amazing Spiderman in them!" Deadpool gushed. Whether it was sarcastic or genuine, Peter couldn't tell.

"And I love spending my limited time on bantering with murderers in dark alleyways." Peter snapped defensively. He realized immediately how rude he was being and knew he should apologize (Aunt May would get onto him if she heard the way he spoke to the mercenary in front of him), but the man before him showed no sign of being offended (not that he really could, and if he did; it was covered by the mask anyway and whatnot). In fact, he merely shrugged in response.

"You gotta do what you gotta do," he said cheerfully, pulling a knife out of nowhere and tossing it into the air like one would do a coin and catching it before throwing it up again. Peter wondered how many takes it took before he could do that without maiming himself. "So. Remind me why you decided to pull a Lester Papadopoulos and dove into a giant trash can again?" Lester Papadopoulos? Peter wondered.

"I never told you in the first place." Peter stalled, cheeks flaming. It was one of the many reasons Peter was glad he wore a mask.

"You're avoiding the question." he noted with a shit-eating grin Peter could somehow tell he had through his mask. Maybe he was just imagining it.

Peter wanted to remark: "Aren't we all?" or with: "You're persistent." but instead went with, "Good observation. You could be a scientist."

"My hypothesis is that you suck at changing the subject."

"Well, look at the time. I think it's time for me to go... do stuff." He winced at how stupid he sounded.

Suddenly, much quieter, Deadpool muttered, "Shut up, Yellow, no one asked you you whiny bitch."

Spiderman opened his mouth to ask, but snapped it shut, deciding not to waste his precious and ebbing sleep time on Deadpool, of all people. He stuck out his hand, a long web sticking to the top of the brick wall, and pulled himself to the roof, sighing in relief there was nothing that indicated Deadpool was following him.

Wade Wilson spent a lot of time dying. He'd even dedicated a shrine to his helpful and sometimes annoying immortality (for all intents and purposes). It was next to his Golden Girls one. He also spent a lot of time killing people- which was kind of ironic, that he couldn't die yet he didn't feel guilty ending other's lives. Or maybe it was fitting that someone who couldn't die has no value for life. Either way, it didn't take away from the fact that, no matter how much he wanted to, Wade Wilson just couldn't fucking die.

But yet there he was, laying perfectly still underwater in his bathtub. He was curled up in an awkward position, but he didn't move. There were, of course, quicker ways to die. He could shoot himself, jump off the roof or his apartment building into a flaming dumpster, set himself on fire, crash a helicopter into the ocean (he'd always wanted to be the next Amelia Earhart), provoke a police officer, get run over (car or horse or rhino or elephant, he wasn't really picky), cut off his limbs one by one, bleed to death (props to Hannah Baker. He was too impatient for that), or even try to walk through a desert without food or water.

He'd done all of that and more, but he preferred drowning. He thought it made him feel more alive, the agonizing feeling of feeling your lung slow as they fill with water. He hadn't found a more painful way to die yet, making drowning his default for when he felt the need for some silence. It was the closest he ever got to serene.

It was definitely not the healthiest coping mechanism out there, but it was the only one that worked.

Anyway, after an hour, he stumbled out of the bathroom, holding his masked head as his boxeswent at it again already. Well, it was enjoyable while it lasted.

_(Dude, we should go do something! Blow up a mountain or go do a job or-)_

[ **As much fun as that sounds, we're not doing that**.]

( _We're not? Why not? Party pooper_.)

**[We're going to sit on that goddamn sofa and watch the same goddamn Golden Girls reruns we watch everyday. It's becoming predictable**.]

"That's not true," Wade interjected, falling over the armrest of the disgusting, unsanitary, and positively the worst piece of furniture to ever exist, said couch. "Sometimes we watch Friends. And Gilmore Girls. And the Office."

[ **Oh, my fucking bad. Allow me to rephrase. We're going to sit on that goddamn sofa and watch tv like we watch everyday. Is that better, smartass**?]

"Yes, thank you, fucking figment of my imagination," Wade threw a flat, musty throw pillow at the gigantic flat screen at the other side of the cramped room.

( _Dude, you're going to disrupt the neighbors. Oh, wait, we should go do that! See if any of them have any liquor we can "borrow"! Can we, please? Please, please, ple_ -)

[ **We don't have neighbors, you idiot**.]

( _We don't? Huh? Okay, forget the neighbors. We should go to a strip club. Or Taco Bell! I want tacos. Or maybe a strip Taco Bell!_ )

[ **You're like an annoying toddler. Or a horny teenager**.]

( _Admit it, it sounds good_!)

[ **Okay. Yeah. Fine. It sounds good, but it's not like it would ever happen**.]

( _Why not? We're pretty rich, right_?)

[ **You're more of an ugly rich.** ]

( _You're me, and I'm you. We're literally the same person, only I'm paler_.)

[ **Yeah, you're white, I'm yellow, and Wade is pink**.]

( _HAHAHAHA. Because of his scars_!)

[ **You ruin the joke when you explain it**.]

"You guys talk more than Speedy Gonzales," Wade grumbled, slightly muffled from the couch cushion his face was pressed against, wishing he could shut them off or get rid of them somehow. He also thought it was a brilliant taco joke, but from the lack of response he got, he knew they weren't happy with him."Why don't you try to shut the fuck up?"

**_[Does this mean no tacos_**?]

( _Someone's grumpy_.)

[ **He's just mad that he has to kill himself to temporarily get rid of us. Fucking wimp. We're fucking amazing. Bring on the tacos!** ]

Not bothering to argue and have to interact more with his stupid ass boxes, Wade changed out of his sweats and into his Deadpool suit, pulled on his Spiderman sweatshirt (his most prized possession. He had it custom made. It has a picture of a tiny animated Spiderman in the bottom left corner shooting webs at his right shoulder), and set off for the Taco Bell down the street, humming the theme song for Gilmore Girls.

Half a mile two streets over, unbeknownst to Deadpool, Spiderman stumbled out of half-destroyed bank, swatting out the fire smoldering on his arm.

Peter Parker was having a shitty day.

Possibly the shittest day in the history of shit.

First, MJ cancelled on him to go out on a date. They were supposed to have lunch at their favorite Italian restaurant- something that both of them had lied about being able to afford-, and possibly go see a movie- another thing they couldn't afford. He knew he was being selfish, always bothering MJ to come see him and go do stuff, but he was lonely. Despite what he told Mr. Stark and Aunt May most days.

Second, he forgot to study for a lab that he had no clue what to do with. He was half sure he failed it. Sometimes he wished he can take Shuri to school with him, but Mr. Stark would kick his ass if he knew that Peter stole away his smartest scientist for a college diploma he didn't really need.

Third, some idiots were trying to rob a bank without guns. Which just baffled him. What kind of cokehead moron attempted to take hostages without any sort of immediate threat? Not that they'd actually succeeded in taking hostages. The only person they'd even come close to potentially hurting had been standing right next to an emergency exit, gotten away, and had called the cops right away. Policemen earlier had confirmed that they were already safe at a precinct.

Which is why he swung through the wide window on the side, knocking one out of an unknown quantity of masked men to the ground, quickly arresting him, and hastily checking for the nonexistent hostages (a formality), before finally heading towards the commotion in the back, presumably where the vaults were held. He just wanted to get this over with and go home to sleep- something he felt like he hadn't done in years- and ignore the growing pile of schoolwork growing on his kitchen table.

His famed spidey senses told him to go to the right, yet they were hesitant, also warning him to turn around and get out. It was probably just his regular, human senses telling him to pass out, and so Peter ignored the second part, his eyes already half closed at the mere thought of sleep, and trudged forward, his feet dragging.

He was getting closer, but to what? The empty-handed idiots? More hostages? Why were his Spiderman bits screaming?

Because they're not empty-handed.

A faint beeping that he hadn't heard earlier got louder and more rapid and- BOOM. He was flung backwards, his body stinging. Adrenaline coursed through his body and he jumped up, feeling very suddenly manic, though his left arm was on fire. He began smacking his own arm as he noted the multiple fires that were being put out by frantic firefighters. Policemen stoody nearby, scowling at them as they munched on tacos.

Tacos. His empty stomach growled and he remembered that the last thing he'd eaten was over twelve hours ago, and was an moldy apple MJ had dared him to eat. Though tacos sounded like heaven to him right now, it wasn't really the time or place for them. He was on patrol, for god's sake. His stomach made a sound in protest that would make a bear jealous.

He glanced over at the policemen sitting on the hoods of their squad cars, all sharing blankets and eating. None of them looked worried or distraught. One of them even gave him a thumbs up. Another winked at him. He figured they were okay. And so he set off in desperate search of his newfound craving, his arm still smoldering.

"If you're out on the road," Wade hummed, his boxes begrudgingly singing along (say what they might when they're aggressive, but all three of them love the show). He sat alone at a small, colorful table at an unpopular taco joint, thankfully unknown enough to the point where he could lift up his mask slightly so he could eat without someone asking him what happened to him or staring and pointing. God, he fucking loathed the gawking. He wasn't on fucking display. "Feeling lonely and so cold," he applied more cheese to his overflowing taco before taking a huge ass bite out of it.

Just then, the door jingled open. Wade turned, mouth still full, eyes wide at the surprising view of another customer- even the owner of the restaurant and his daughter looked confused- before choking on his food with a noise that sounded like a fork stuck in a garbage disposal. Spiderman turned, somehow looking alarmed through his mask, his eyes finally landing on Deadpool. His shoulders relaxed the smallest bit, though he still seemed tense. Deadpool's mouth was still open, his body frozen as he tried to assess the situation.

Here's what he had so far: the super cool guy who he'd been trying to act equally suave and mysterious around was now in his sacred taco place (his Taco-Cave, if you will), staring at the very bottom one-fourth of his scarred face that he'd been tried to keep private- because, let's face it, who would want to show their adulthood hero their ugliness?- that was also stuffed full of half-chewed food.

( _MAYDAY MAYDAY, WE'RE GOING DOWN_.)

[ **QUICK, DON'T SAY ANYTHING STUPID! DON'T FOLLOW YOUR INSTINCTS, STAY QUIET, DON'T MOVE, JUST** -]

"Dude, are you okay?" Spiderman said, frowning as he stepped up to the register and ordered. Two drops of blood splattered on the floor as he let go of his left arm to hand Taco Phil (what Deadpool frequently called Jayden, AKA the restaurant owner) a few crumpled dollar bills.

( _OH MY GOD, HE'S HURT_.)

[ **FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T SPEAK, YOU HAVE THE SOCIAL CUES OF A FUCKING GOLDFISH** -]

( _KILL HIM, PUT HIM OUT OF HIS PAIN, ORDER ANOTHER TACO, DO SOMETHING. HE JUST ASKED YOU A QUESTION AND YOU'RE JUST STARING AT HIM LIKE A FUCKING LUNATIC, SPEAK SPEAK SPEAK_ -)

"Uh," Wade said, dragging the word out as his brain scrambled for another word. He swallowed the hearty bite of taco. Any other word would do.

( _Oh. Oh no_.)

[ **Aren't you just fucking brilliant. You just embarrassed us in front of Spidey**.]

"Why're you here? You've never come in here before," without waiting for a response, he continued on, the words just pouring out of him, "and what happened to your arm? I'm pretty sure arms aren't supposed to smell like smoke. Unless you're the Human Torch- who's tried to unalive me before, by the way- who probably sets everything on fire. Could you imagine staying near him for a while? Would definitely get stage four lung cancer quickly. I'll pray for the poor soul. Cancer is a tough bitch."

[ **You had one job. Just the one**.]

Spiderman tilted his head, making heartstopping eye contact with Wade, who was about to shoot himself right there and then if his boxes kept talking.

"It was the closest place that sold cheap tacos, work stuff gone wrong, and Johnny? He's a good guy, why'd he try to, um, unalive you?" Deadpool could tell he was smiling somehow. It made his heart crawl into his throat.

"Work stuff gone wrong." Wade repeated slowly, remembering Human Torch setting him on fire. He kept trying to kill Wade over and over again until he finally gave up when Wade woke up, laughing at him.

"Wait, you're not joking?" Spiderman queried, sounding conflicted now. What just happened?

"Do you know me to be serious, baby boy?" Deadpool asked with a mouthful of food, feeling considerably more relaxed than he was at the beginning of the conversation. Spiderman shook his head disapprovingly.

"You're a handful," he muttered distractedly, dropping a dollar in the tip jar and striding over to the door.

"See you around, Spidey," he called after him. Once the spandex-clad hero was out of his line of sight, his heart returned to a normal pace, though the faint buzzing in his ears didn't go away. He stood after finishing off his tacos and headed for the door. Before he could get too far, he heard Taco Phil utter quietly to Taco Beatrice:

"Five bucks says they're together before the year is over."

"You're on, old man."

"Why're you in my house?" Peter groaned in the general direction of a grinning Johnny Storm. A Johnny Storm who was eating Peter's last bowl of cereal. A Johnny Storm who was about to get his ass kicked.

"Food." Johnny offered, indifferent to Peter's glare.

"That key was for emergencies. Emergencies such as you're unable to go home or you're having a mental issue or you're physically incapable of basic tasks. Not because you're hungry and don't feel like going to the bank. Or the store. Or an ATM."

"Well, if that's how you really feel,"

"Shut up." Peter peeled off his spandex suit with great difficulty, threw it in the back of his open hallway closet, and stepped into some oversized sweats, jumping onto his bed with way too much enthusiasm. He heard Johnny's footsteps stomping on his floor as he took a running leap and felt his body weight dent the mattress and then his unhealthy body heat.

"Hey," he began, rolling over so he could look Johnny in the eye.

"Hello." It came out as a question.

"Have you ever seen Deadpool?"

"Who hasn't?"

"I mean, um," he paused, unsure if his words would end with his blankets ablaze. It'd happened before. "Were you ordered to kill him?"

"Yeah." Johnny divulged casually. Peter faltered. "I knew I couldn't and I needed the money. I kept my no killing streak clear and I made rent."

"But still..." he trailed off, feeling weird.

"Yeah." Johnny agreed. "It was sick. What was even worse was that he seemed so used dying. S'weird."

The conversation had suddenly taken a dark turn, and Peter hurried to change the subject. "I brought home tacos!" He announced.

Johnny jumped up, all things Deadpool wiped from his mind. "Beef and cheese?"

"Of course."

"You're the best Mom ever!" He cheered jokingly over his shoulder, hightailing it to the kitchen. Peter forced a small chuckle, his focus directed towards Deadpool rather than the only edible food in his household being devoured. How many times had Deadpool been killed? Or, should he say, had been attempted to be killed? How many people had he killed? What was the full story on how he got his immortality? Was it even called immortality? Why did he act so weird at the taco place earlier? How did he get all the scars on his face? Was he in danger? When was the last time he'd killed someone? 

"What's got your panties in a twist, Parker?" Johnny asked, his eyes squinted as he peered over his taco, giving Peter a once-over.

"School," he lied, burying his face in his messy pile of blankets so it wouldn't give him away. Though he doubted Johnny would notice anyhow, since he was too busy going to town on the tacos he'd unthinkingly given away.

"Ah," Johnny bought it hook, line, and sinker, seeing as Peter was in fact drowning in school work, and sat down on his bed again. Peter pushed him off with an unintelligible grumble about crumbs. He received a swat to the back of his head. "Hell. Thank god I don't have to go through that anymore."

"You're never going to get a job with a basic high school diploma, Johnny."

"I'd rather starve than go to college. You know that."

"Yeah, I do. But what happens once your fire gets doused?"

"What happens once you aren't sticky anymore?"

"I have college backing me up."

"Fuck you." Peter sat up, ignoring a rambling Johnny and began sorting through his work. He had too much due too soon. "If you're an unresponsive asshole, say nothing,"

"Nothing," Peter mimicked, receiving another smack upside the head.

"So did you run into Deadpool?"

"Hmm?"

"Dude, are you even paying attention?" Johnny asked, sitting upside down on his bed now, legs in the air and leaning against the wall at the head of the bed.

"Yeah. Just trying to finish a paper." He missed high school when work was easier. Now he had to balance school, work, and Spiderman, and somehow find time for Johnny. And now maybe Deadpool. Not that he wanted to be friends with Deadpool. No. Tony Stark would go crazy.

"So you ran into Deadpool then?" Johnny repeated.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Did anyone die?"

"No."

"Wow."

"Wow what?"

"He's whipped."

Peter pushed him off the bed.


	2. the big blow job of wade wilson (but not in the way you're thinking)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wade gets blown up by a bomb during a mercenary job with spiderman (not that he was aware in any way beforehand that deadpool would be there). cue the utter humiliation that he bravely chooses to ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consider this your typo warning
> 
> did you get the title ? if not, reread the summary ;)

"Hey, Aunt May. I was just about to call you," Peter said into his iPhone (gifted to him by Johnny, who Peter thought wasn't good with finances), a big smile on his face as he stitched up his burnt suit. He had been planning on calling her this morning but then his interning job at Stark Industries came up (his coworker, Sheila, had nearly accidentally blown up the entire building; Stark had merely clapped her on the back with a chuckle while Stephen put it out in the background) and his actual job at The Daily Bugle- which had been iffy these last few months- had called and he had to go out and set up a photo shoot of himself as Spiderman to get more money (because that's the way the world works nowadays).

He had also started to clean multiple times, but the farthest he got was throwing all his dirty clothes strewn about his room into his hamper and dragging it to the small closet where he kept his washing machine. He never actually started a load. He had begun doing to dishes, but Stark called him about a job he was going to leave for in ten minutes (hence the hurried, sloppy stitching) and there was no way he was going to turn down _Iron Man_ , so here he was.

Being semi productive but not really- aka the title of his autobiography, originally titled "Kill Me Right Fucking Now". The sequel, "I Hate My Boss", is coming out in May. The extra chapters- "What is Love?", "Gwen Don't Hurt Me", and "I Pour Milk Before The Cereal, So What?"- are due in June. Hopefully written by Jerry Seinfeld.

"Oh, I'm sure," Aunt May clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "You really should come visit, Peter. I miss you."

Peter winced. Here comes the guilt fest. He had brought it upon himself, really. He hadn't visited in nearly a month. Between school, work, and interning, his life was full. He needed to make time for her and MJ. Without cancelling at the last minute. As he'd done too many times to count on one hand. But it wasn't like it was on purpose. There had always been an alien invasion, or he had slept in, or he had seen Logan in the corner, eyeing him weirdly, causing him to spin around and get out of there.

It had happened _twice_.

Which isn't that much, but it was strange it's happened even just the once, as NYC is a big place and Logan just happened to be at the same place as the same time as a maskless Peter Parker.

"I know." He said softly, finishing up his suit. It didn't take too long for her to recover from the somber mood. She began badgering him about how much he was eating and who he was seeing and what his friends were like and did he even have friends.

"I do have friends, Aunt May." He complained, deflecting her attempt to set him up.

"Uh huh. Besides MJ and Johnny?" Silence. Pure, guilty silence, "Peter, you really need to make more friends. I don't want you to be lonely."

"I do have friends!" He repeated, exasperated.

"Like who?"

"Uh, Wade." The second the name passed his lips, his eyes widened. Wade? That was the first name his stupid brain produced? He hadn't realized he'd been dwelling on their interaction the previous day, but apparently, he had.

There was a brief, surprised silence for a moment, until she clapped suddenly.

"Alrighty then! I'll see you next Friday with this Wade character! And please, don't bring Johnny wearing a wig. It didn't work last time, it won't work this time." She told him. He could hear the excitement in her voice, which made his heart drop. There was no way he could bring a mercenary to his Aunt's house. What was he going to do? He could barely force a chuckle at her joke. "I love you."

"I love you too, May," Peter croaked, hanging up. He sat there for a moment, head in his hands, thinking the same thing over and over and over again.

Well, shit.

Peter sat atop the brick wall, staring out over the dimly lit docks. It was dark out, as it was nearing eleven o'clock. He'd been sitting there for hours. His back ached so badly he had to stretch every ten minutes. It was mid stretch that he found himself in the company of Deadpool (which was strange because he had just been thinking of ways to avoid him).

He dropped his arms as the man walked out of his peripheral vision. "What are you _doing_?"

"Just enjoying the show. Don't stop on account of me." Deadpool said nonchalantly, as if the last time Peter had seen him he hadn't had beef and cheese hanging out of his mouth. He sat down a few feet away from where Peter had been seated, and began digging through his Hello Kitty backpack. He pulled out sniper parts, which felt like an physical oxymoron, then around six tacos, as if Peter hadn't had the view of a lifetime the last time.

He lifted his mask and began eating. The second Peter's eyes landed on his scars, all arguments he had prepared to get him off his turf had vanished, and he felt himself move to sit down next to the semi masked man, and stare out of the corner of his eye.

They were like battle wounds from old war heroes you couldn't look away from. Maybe they were exactly that. But that wasn't the point. Peter was staring, very thankful Deadpool couldn't see him do it, and, besides the beef dropping out of his mouth, he wasn't grossed out like a normal person would be. In fact, Peter preferred the scars over the mask and it made him feel weird.

"So, Spidey, what do you think of climate change?" Deadpool said in a mock deep voice, breaking his trance.

"Are you trying to mimic a news reporter?" Peter asked confusedly, relieved he had a distraction.

"Just making conversation. Want a taco?" Changing the subject, Deadpool held something, supposedly a taco. His spider-sense was quiet and he was starving- he hadn't eaten since this morning-, so he shrugged and accepted the object.

He rolled up his mask just enough so he could take a bite, trying to ignore Deadpool staring at him. He would've told him to cut it out, but he had been doing the same thing.

"This is a quesadilla, man." He corrected after a moment of awkward silence.

"How old are you?" The mercenary asked suddenly. Peter flinched. His age was a big issue he had with himself. He was the youngest Avenger, not that they were all aware of that fact (he wasn't sure how old Thor thought he was, but he'd tried to give him beer when he was sixteen), and he hated it. He remembered how relieved he was once he turned eighteen and was finally an adult. But now, two years later, he was still waiting and wanting to be older. It was frustrating.

"Twenty."

"Thank god." He blushed. Even with enhanced hearing, Peter hoped he heard Deadpool's mumbling wrong, though he knew he didn't.

"What?"

"Look, baby boy, the show is starting!" Peter looked where Deadpool was pointing, his complaints about his new pet name dying in his throat. A speedboat pulled up to the docks and four men climbed out. Tony Stark had said they were each carrying a hard drive and that his objective was it retrieve all of them.

His spider-sense flickered to life. He turned to look at Deadpool, who had somehow put together his seemingly expensive sniper in the five seconds Peter had looked away. His finger was about to pull the trigger when Peter kicked the thing away from him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Peter scolded. Deadpool just tilted his head as if to say, _dude, what the hell do_ you _think_ you're _doing?_

"My job." Deadpool responded, moving from his kneeling position behind his sniper to tower over Peter. "I'm making both of our lives much easier. What's your problem?"

He sounded genuinely confused, which made Peter feel bad for him. How does he not know that, "Killing is wrong."

Deadpool snorted and went and stood on the edge of the building. "Yeah. Right. That's like saying chimichangas aren't delicious. Or that unicorns aren't real. Or that Thor isn't gay." Before Peter could respond, he turned back to him, saluted, said, "Sayonara!" and jumped.

Peter scrambled for the edge, staring over it and down onto the concrete below.

Deadpool had vanished.

[ **You're such a dramatic bitch, DP.** ]

( _Teleporting is fun! Much better than drowning._ )

[ **Ugh. Let's not talk about the d word on a full stomach** ]

( _What? Dick? Where?_ )

[ **I hate that I'm confined to the same brain to you for the rest of eternity.** ]

( _Right back at 'cha, twink._ )

"Could you be quiet for ten fucking seconds?" Wade hissed, changing out the mags on his pistol. They hadn't stopped yapping all fucking day. It was driving him insane. When he ran into Spidey, though, they'd been quiet for a fantastic minute or so before they exploded into a chorus of "whoa, his ass is godly" with a rendition of "he probably does pilates". Sure, Wade had been thinking the same thing, but it was more annoying when it was three times louder.

( _Is this a trick question?_ )

[ **I hate you both.** ]

There was a rustling behind him. The pistol was pointed above the masked head of one Spiderman before he could think. He wondered what his expression was and how he would pay a million dollars to see it.

"Oh. It's you." He reluctantly lowered the pistol. He really wanted to shoot something, but the four men would have to do. Whenever they finally come around the bend. And normally, he would be stoked to see Spidey, but he'd died twice today; the first time made him feel amazing and free as a bird, but when he died the second time (thanks to a bar fight) it took him no time to resurrect, and it felt like the boxes had been talking the entire time. He couldn't stand them. Not recently. Once, he'd been thankful to have company 24/7, but now they just made him feel crazy and try to sway his judgement. He'd been too long without a break. Even if too long was less than twelve hours.

"Don't sound so happy to see me." If Wade hadn't known any better, he'd think Spidey sounded hurt. But that wasn't possible, because he didn't like him. At all. As he'd been told many times from numerous people.

"Don't get in the way of my job." He glanced in the general direction of the rooftop he'd teleported off of, wondering if he could grab his sniper that was still up there. It wasn't necessary because that was was his only weapon to kill the guys with it anything, since he still had his katanas and a pistol. He would've had more but he left his other firearm bag with his taxi driver, Dopinder.

As if reading his mind, Spiderman grumbled, "Don't even think about it."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

"We're not killing anyone." Spiderman said firmly. Wade's mind replayed the word "we" over and over again in Spidey's delicious voice. Wait, could he even still think that way about Spidey without abandoning his morals? Sure, he was technically an adult, but just barely. Twenty is still pretty young, compared to his twenty-eight.

In tune with his thoughts, Yellow said, [ **Hmph. I could fall asleep to his voice. You know. If I could fall asleep.** ]

( _Same here. I just wanna lick his voice. Is that a thing? Can that please be a thing?_ )

"Shut up." Wade muttered. He could almost see the weird look Peter gave him.

"Excuse me?" Of course he said "excuse me". He probably kisses babies and lick those giant lollipops you see in movies and-

( _I wish he would lick our lollipop._ )

[ **Agreed.** ]

"Not you." Because that's so much better. _Yeah, man, I don't want_ you _to shut up, just those annoying voices inside my head. You know how they can get._

"Um. Okay? Then who?"

"Nothing. No one. Does it matter?" Wade felt like pulling out his hair. You know. If he had hair.

"No," came the cautious reply. Wade looked away from the too blank mask in front of him and stared at the floor, waiting. The guys would round the corner any minute now, and the job would be over. He could go home and blow his brains out. The thought made him itch. It also send some heat to his nether regions, but he and the boxes ignored that to the best of their ability. He _would_ be doing it now if fifty grand wasn't on the table.

"You really were going to kill them, weren't you?" Spidey asked.

"Still am." Wade snapped. "Got a problem with that, then get the hell out."

The smaller man flinched, but came back with a strained retort. "I'm not going let you do that, Deadpool."

"My only job is to kill them. I kill them; you go back to daycare; I can go home able to buy food. We all win! Except the other guys. But, to be fair, death is a nice lady." Even to him, his voice sounded cracked and beat. He just wanted to fucking die. He also wanted to cry.

"I don't think you're a bad person," the other man said slowly, as if testing the insanely capricious waters.

Wade snorted. "But?"

"But"-he laughed again, but it was forced- "you've made some bad choices. I think with help you could be better than what you think you are. A lot of people are this way. Granted, they don't normally kill for a living, but..."

[ **Anything's better than what I think we are.** ]

( _Shhhh. Don't ruin the moment. Spidey was just confessing how he truly feels about us. Respect the blushing bitch we are._ )

"Hm." Wade ignored the boxes easily this time, his brain focusing more on how Spiderman just said he would help him become a better person.

"Hm?" Spiderman repeated questioningly.

"Spidey. Baby, honey, sweet cheeks-"

"Stop."

"-you really think I could be a better person?" His voice wavered on the word "person". Because was he really a person? He didn't feel like it. He was a _mutant_. A bad guy. It's in his DNA. Literally. Was there any way he could be a _good_ mutant? Possibly a good person?

[ **No.** ]

( _Sex!_ )

"Of course."

"I-" he began, but Spiderman moved from his spot from leaning against the back wall and immediately crouched into a fighting stance. Wade pulled out his blades, ready for action.

A small bomb rolled into the small patch of artificial light. Before Spiderman could do anything, Wade threw himself over it and yelled, "Get out of here!", allowing himself to be blast into oblivion.

Peter's vision was blurry. Per freaking usual.

He swung into Brooklyn, leg cramping from the cold. It soon spread throughout his body, and he attempted setting himself down in a seemingly vacant alleyway to stretch. Instead, what he did was manage to clip his leg on the side of a fire escape, throwing him off his rhythm and leading him to landing face down in a puddle that didn't smell like water.

He groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position, his feet tucked under him. He lifted up his mask just enough so he could breathe instead of inhaling damp fabric.

"Wow! Ten out of ten landing, Spidey! Although, maybe you should work out the whole crash landing thing. Second time in three days, y'know. You must have bruises all over you. Might wanna get that checked out. Hey, I could do it for you! First time is free of charge."

You've got to be kidding me, Peter thought with a wince as he rose to his feet and turned to face the familiar person in front of him. He wobbled slightly, grabbing fistfuls of spandex to steady himself. Unthinkingly, he leaned on him as he would MJ, trying to ground himself. The man stiffened and Peter came to his senses, remembering he wasn't a friendly.

"Deadpool." He muttered, regaining his balance quickly and immediately putting space between them. Well, that was awkward. He wondered why his spider sense hadn't gone off. It went off with the smallest of things, so why doesn't Deadpool, a known killer, the famed Merc with a Mouth, set it off?

Unless he doesn't have malicious intentions, which Peter doubted, because why would he pop up everywhere he goes? Granted, the taco place must've been chance as Deadpool looked completely unprepared, but he was always in the same alleyways Peter ended up in. Coincidence?

"How ya doing, baby boy? Besides the whole "help, I've fallen and I can barely get up!" reoccurring fiasco." Deadpool asked casually. Like the last time he had seen him they didn't have a deep discussion and he hadn't pulled multiple 180's during the entirety of their unplanned meetup and then blew up- _literally_ \- in front of him.

"Don't call me that." Peter said automatically. Then, ever the realist, he demanded: "Are you following me?"

"That phase is long gone," Deadpool assured him, hands trailing over a pistol on his utility belt. It made Peter feel uneasy though his spider sense didn't even flinch. Maybe it was broken. Can it malfunction? He'd have to confer with Bruce and Tony. It wasn't really Shuri's area of expertise, but maybe she could help too.

"Then why are you everywhere?" Two times in one day for a New Yorker was rare, but three times in two days? Something was up, and Peter was fully prepared to fight. He was on edge, waiting for something to happen. Why wasn't Deadpool doing anything?

"I ask myself the same thing," he joked. Peter frowned. His burner phone he'd wedged in between his outfit and his collarbone went off, stopping him from webbing the merc to the brick wall behind him and interrogating him. He hastily fumbled for it- he'd only given the Avengers that number- ignoring Deadpool's comment: "I was wondering what that was. Thought you had a tumor."

"Hello?" Peter answered.

"Spiderboy?" The voice on the other end said. Peter learned to accept the wretched nickname. Pointing it out make it worse. "It's Tony. Stark. We were supposed to have a meeting today and you're not here. Are you coming?"

"Oh, crap," he tuned out Deadpool's rambling beside him. "Yeah. I'm coming. I'll be there in five."

"What's that noise?"

"Um, just a friend. See you in five." He hung up then, avoiding any other questions Tony might've had.

"We're friends? That's so cool, Spidey! Now I can give you my friendship card!" Peter opened his mouth to reject it, but before he could get a word out, Deadpool shoved a card that came from God knows where into his hand. It had Deadpool riding a unicorn who was shitting rainbows on it along with a phone number. "D'you like it?"

Suddenly not wanting to hurt his feelings, Peter forced out a "Uh, sure? Listen, I gotta run," the expression on the taller man's mask seemed to droop somehow. Peter's stomach twisted. He pushed the feeling away. "But I guess I'll text you later tonight."

"Omgee! Really?" More animated now, the man rushed to give the brunette a hug. Startled, Peter almost dropped the card.

The hug was brief, but Peter didn't stop thinking about it the whole way to Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'll post again in a week !  
> also me: *posts again a month later*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter needs some Peace & Quiet.
> 
> Wade gives him the opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this !! is !! unedited !! please point out typos !!

  
Peter knew he should've done something.

It was interlaced in his nightmares; Deadpool throwing himself over the grenade and exploding all over the narrow alleyway. He should've been the one to lay down his life. Why was it never him? Why was it always someone else?

He should've been there to stitch him up, at least. He hadn't even asked if Deadpool was okay, for christ's sake. He'd meant to, he'd meant to apologize for everything and possibly offer a burrito. Though he knew Deadpool would insist upon a chimichanga. He'd mentioned writing sonnets about them before, so Peter guessed those were his favorite. But, naturally, Peter had gone off topic in his deep thinking.

He just wished that, for once, it'd be him, no matter how young or inexperienced the professionals say, laying down on the wire while the others crawled over him. That it'd be _him_ that didn't lose someone dear to him, and that he instead was the one who was lost.

He didn't hope to die, but if it was between him and another person, there was no competition.

In his nightmare, the grenade went off and Deadpool covered the brick walls with crimson red blood. When he rushed towards the dying- if not already dead- man and rolled him over to check his pulse to make sure he was coming back, it was his Uncle Ben.

He gasped, dropping his grasp on the body. But that didn't matter since Uncle Ben was reaching out for him, hand clutching his forearm. He looked just as Peter remembered him. White hair, deep brown eyes, smile lines around his mouth. Peter froze on the spot, drinking him in.

"You... you could've saved me." Ben said, before going limp. It took him a second to register what was happening.

"No!" Peter yelled after a moment, unfreezing and scrambling for his neck to check the pulse once again. "No, no, no, no-"

"Peter, you gotta wake up." A voice echoed around him.

"What?" The words weren't registering in his head, as he desperately wished for him to be alive and tried not to throw up over his uncle's corpse.

"It's just a dream, Peter. It's time for school."

He sat bolt upright, eyes blinking open and head hurting nearly as much as his heart. He found the source of the pain when Johnny rose from his sprawled position on the floor, clutching his forehead.

"No need to headbutt me, man. Not a threat." Johnny grumbled. Peter couldn't find it in him to be sorry. But he apologized anyway, unable to put much feeling into it as he was still recovering from the dream. "Yeah, you sound it. Everything okay?"

"Why are you here?" He changed the subject, not wanting to talk about it at all.

Johnny dropped it immediately, which made Peter sigh. He didn't want to talk about it, but it'd be nice if Johnny could pretend like he cared, even just a little bit. "There was a sale at Dunkin' and it cost me one dollar to get this huge box of donuts so I figured I'd swing by here and help your starving ass."

The gesture was sweet, so Peter tried to be hungry, but it just wasn't there. He was never hungry these days. "Can you save me one? I have an early class today."

"Yeah, sure, man." Johnny left the room, in a hurry to get to his donuts. Peter reluctantly got up and started getting ready for the day. His phone's clock told him he had half an hour to be at school, so he hastily brushed his teeth, ran a hand through his hair, and pulled on some semi clean clothes. He left his apartment, not bothering to say goodbye to Johnny, who was laying across the couch, watching tv.

When he finally arrived to class, he plopped down next to Shuri, who sat in on some classes at his college for some reason. She said it was for educational purposes, but he suspected it was for the hot girl who Peter has most classes with.

"You look like shit." She told him. He shot her a sarcastic smile.

"Thanks."

"I'm not saying it to be mean, bubba." She continued in her thick accent. "You just look tired."

"I know." He mumbled, avoiding the eye contact of Dr. Banner, who sometimes drops by to teach a class, and was also shooting them a death glare. Which wouldn't be that scary since it was half-formed, but considering it was coming from the fucking _Hulk_ was a big fear factor.

"Whatever. There's a checkup in two weeks. I expect to see you there." She then stood and strode out of the class, startling a few students who had fallen asleep (and had now woken up to a princess climbing over them to get to the exit).

Peter groaned. He hated their checkups. They consisted of her checking his spidey senses and telling him to sleep more. To check his senses, she put him and an Avenger in a fighting ring and he'd tell her whether or not he could sense the danger as someone lunged at him. He thought it was stupid, everyone else thought it was fun.

He thought it was stupid because no one- besides Natasha- had the intention of hurting him. Only once had his spidey senses gone off, and that was with Bucky after Peter accidentally landed a punch too hard on Steve. Steve had just laughed it off and socked him in the shoulder, but Bucky looked positively murderous.

Which, okay, definitely Peter's fault, but Steve probably barely felt it! He was a super soldier, after all. Still, Bucky looked ready to pounce. Thankfully, he was prohibited from entering the ring as he had a record of getting too into the fighting. Once, even on the sidelines, he punched Steve right in the face when he got too excited. Peter thought that was extremely hypocritical, but let it slid so he didn't get a metal fist aimed at his head again like when he was fifteen.

Once class was finally over, he trudged outside, ready to grab himself a cup of coffee from the cart outside the dorms, when he spotted someone in a familiar red suit, loitering around, occasionally pickpocketing from someone and handing it to a different confused person.

And no, it wasn't Spiderman.

"Deadpool!" Peter hissed, striding up to him and pushing his back, causing him to stumble. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Yeah, so just because he feels bad for blowing Deadpool up, doesn't mean he wants him to be on his college campus with harmless civilians milling around, unaware they're in the presence of a merc. Actually, scratch that, one guy was calling the police. His enhanced hearing could hear the guy stumbling over his words and the 911 operator on the other end of the call. He could feel some stares being shot at them. God, it had been such a long day. He just wanted- no, _needed_ \- Deadpool to get out.

He dangled the gold watch in front of Peter's face, looking confused even through the mask. "...Yes? Do I know you? 'Cause your voice sounds really familiar and- WOWIE! Your ass is fantastic! What's your secret? Pilates?"

Peter's face went red. Did he... Was he not wearing the mask? He looked down and saw his civvies. Shit. Oh _shit shit_ _shit_. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else." He quickly turned to walk away, but a gloved hand caught him by the arm. It was a firm hold that made his arm tinge. The gold watch was a few feet behind Deadpool on the ground now, as he seemed to have tossed it over his shoulder like it held no value.

"Are you sure? Because you said 'Deadpool', and last I checked, that's my name." There was a slight pause as the merc gasped. "Deadpool, Deadpool, bo-beadpool, banana-fana fo-feadpool, fee-fi-mo-meadpool, Deadpool! At your service, m'lady."

"It's an inside joke." Peter's heart was beating wildly. He had very minimal time to cover his own ass before he was found out right here, in the middle of his college campus, most of the students staring at him.

"Between you and another red spandex wearing guy?" Peter barely noticed that he didn't say 'hero'. "Like who? Spiderman? HA!"

"Um, yes, actually." He lied quickly. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Peter. Peter Parker. I take photos of Spiderman for the Daily Bugle. We're, uh, we're friends."

"Omgee," Deadpool's eyes seemed to widen comically as he shook his hand vigorously, "really?! Because I absolutely L-O-V-E love Spidey! Does he talk about me? At all? Like, ever? Mentioned me in passing? Something about wanting to kiss me passionately and have my babies? Ring any bells?"

"Um, no." Peter said, pulling his hand out from under the relaxing warmth of the gloves. Deadpool's eyes drooped. "But," he continued, trying to keep the conversation light and positive so Deadpool wouldn't skewer him, which was a high possibility. "He has said something about fighting with another 'spandex wearing guy'. That could be you."

Deadpool's mask seemed to pull upwards in a smile that made Peter blush. Crap, he can't blush when he's out of the suit. He would never hear the end of it. Wait, but why was he blushing? "Really? You think so? Spidey and I... friends? Well, any friend of Spidey is a friend of mine! Welcome aboard the DP Train, Petey pie! Here's your golden ticket!" He fumbled inside his utility belt and stuck out a rainbow colored card with a unicorn- it was his friendship card?

Peter took the card, smiling softly. Peter Parker and Deadpool. Friends. It wasn't a rational thought, but who cares? He deserved to be impulsive every once in a while. Right?

"Nice unicorn, man." He said appreciatively. Deadpool beamed at him. He felt a rant coming on.

"I got it custom made! Cost me five bucks from this Tumblr gal." He fiddled with someone on his belt, and after a moment he pulled out his phone. "Wanna see the ones I commissioned of me and Spidey?"

"Um," Peter wondered how to decline politely, but before he had a chance to, Deadpool was already showing him. It had the both of them in a cute anime form, Deadpool hugging a disgruntled looking Spiderman. Peter laughed despite his best efforts. "It certainly portrays the both of us- I mean, the both of you well."

"Doesn't it!" Deadpool didn't seem to catch Peter's slip up, but he was still sweating bullets. "Anyway, my name is Wilson. Wade Wilson." He stuck out his hand again. Peter rolled his eyes and shook it for the second time.

"Parker. Peter Parker." He repeated in a mocking tone. Deadpool- Wade- guaffed.

"I gotta go, but call me maybe." Wade turned to strut out, wiggling his hips and clicking his heels together, humming the song all the way. Peter tried not to laugh.

Maybe this won't end _too_ badly.  
  


**[He's not going to call.]**

_(Ugh. Your pessimism is putting down my horny mood.)_

**[It's not pessimistic. It's the truth.]**

_(Still. Horny mood went blurgh.)_

"Hey, how 'bout y'all shut the frickity frack snickity snack up?" Wade said, laying upside down on his couch, staring intently at the phone he was holding.

He was in a good mood, only because he was reading fanfiction about him and Spidey on Archive of Our Own, his favorite place to browse smut- though they didn't have much "Spideypool" fics, which sucked since Wattpad didn't have any at all either, so he had to keep rereading. Could it also be because of a shockingly muscular yet still skinny college student who said he would call? Maybe. Perhaps. Definitely.

**[He didn't say he would call. You said "call me" and walked off as if that were a good proposition.]**

"You know what? I don't remember ever saying, "hey, Yellow, can you please continue to make an ass out of yourself?""

That's when the boxes exploded, scrambling over each other for Wade to know what they were saying.

_(They do it for free. Also, pizza and masturbation. Pretty please?)_

**[I never remember telling you to-]**

_(DP, please-)_

**[-look like and be an asshole everyday but yet-]**

_(Also, where did we ever land on a Strip Taco Bell?)_

**[-there you are.]**

They continued on and on about the same two topics while Wade did his best to block them out, when it got unbearable, as in he couldn't unscramble his thoughts from theirs, he finally set down his phone, and promptly went to go find a gun to blast his brains out.

It wasn't dire circumstances, he just couldn't last another two hours before they calmed down without going insane. Right before he pulled the trigger, his phone went off. Curious, he set down the gun- Yellow screamed "coward" at him- and picked up how phone.

_hey, wade. it's peter parker. from empire state uni. just wondering how you're doing._

Talk about depressing timing. Or would that be good timing? Depends on the point of view.

_(Well, answer him, you sack of balls!)_

"Alright, alright," Wade mumbled, pulling off his leather gloves so he could type. He ignored his disgusting marred skin, and began typing.

**hi, petey pie !! i'm doin great ! just fantastic !** He sat down on his couch and eagerly waited for a response, suicide completely forgotten.

_day's going that bad, huh ?_ He laughed, but it sounded rough.

**could be better. okay, a lot better,, but !! at least i saw u !!**

A minute later, Peter finally replied. _you're like a school girl. or at least you text like one._

**sweetheart,, i can be whatever you want me to be. bUT my specialty is a maid. or a nurse. or a nurse maid hybrid**

_i think you just being wilson- wade wilson- is enough_

Wade's heart warmed exponentially. **aw shucks. u sure kno how to make a girl tear up petey**

_wish i had that ability in high school._

So many questions raced through his head. **were u a nerd in hs ? bet u were. a rly pretty nerd. wait. were u just as cute as u are now ?**

**also,** he followed up, **did u get all the pretty people (no judgement zone here) at school ? some hotties ? anyone i would know ? anyone we could have a threesome with ?**

_aaaand that's all we have time for tonight ! goodnight, wade_

**you're avoiding the question !!!!**

_g o o d n i g h t , w a d e ._

**ugh. fine. sleep tiGht ! don't let the bedbugs bite ! & if they do, smack 'em away with your cum goo !**

Peter didn't know why he texted Deadpool. He really didn't. He just felt a sudden urge to. Almost like a spidey sense, but for Dead- Wade. He was Wade now. Somehow.

Either way, Peter had texted him. And now his phone was being relentlessly blown up by a scarred thirty year old who kills people for a living.

**hey that rhymed lolz**

**anyWho**

**good morning for when u r awake !**

**rise & shine,, wakey wakey eggs & bakey & all that**

**if u wanted me to i would 100% make you eggs & bacon in the morning**

**preferably after we do the do**

**bUt i will make an exception once**

**just for u *kissy face emoji***

**also**

**we should play 20 q !!**

**q1 dirtiest kink ?**

So yeah. There's that. And there's the fact that he still needs to patrol. For the next six hours. And then he has half an hour to sleep before going to classes.

He trudged towards his spandex suit he'd discarded early this morning and changed into it. It definitely needed to be washed. It smelled slightly sour, so he sprayed some febreeze and Axe deodorant on it and hoped for the best. He then pulled the mask on, ignored the sting in his eyes, and exited his apartment through the fire escape, not wanting to frighten his elderly neighbors.

It was not ten minutes later when he ran into Wade.

Naturally.

He was sitting on a rooftop, all alone, swinging his legs and chatting away to no one in particular. And, well, Peter couldn't just leave him _alone_ , could he? Besides, he needed to talk to him about the other day.

But it could wait, couldn't it? He really didn't want to do this tonight. What he really wanted was to go home and sleep for the next ten years.

But he never does get his way, does he? So that's how Peter ended up swinging over to Wade.

"Spidey! Hey!" Wade exclaimed, jumping to his feet on the ledge of the building. _He could fall and die_ , Peter thought, panicking. _Just like Gwen_. He shot out a web without thinking, pulling Wade further away from the edge of the building. They both stumbled from force of impact.

"Hi." Peter was slightly breathless from stress and boy did his voice show it.

"You'll never believe what happened to me today!" Wade said, pulling a pair of tiny kid's scissors from absolutely nowhere and hacking at the web coming from Peter's wrist that was glued to his chest.

"What?" Peter ripped the web apart easily with his strength, and Wade just stared for a moment before continuing.

"I met the cutest guy, Spidey! Like, real cute."

"Oh, really?" He said absentmindedly, trying his hardest to pay attention and not scream "I'm sorry".

"His name is Peter Parker, he said you know him?" Wade tilted his head to the side, waiting on confirmation.

His head snapped up, heart hammering in his throat. "Yeah, I know him. He's a photographer for the Daily Bugle. Takes pictures of me every once in a while."

"Coolio. Glad to know he's not a faker. Didn't seem like the type though. Was a real big sweetheart, y'know. Of course you know, you've met him." He growled: "Shut up, Yellow." They sat in a tense silence for a moment, which was uncommon, since Wade usually never shuts up. Peter took that as his chance. "I should probably-"

"I'm sorry." He blurted out, cursing himself immediately after. He'd had a whole speech and everything and there he went, blurting out the gist of it.

"For?" Wade prompted, sounding very confused. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault-"

"For, um, that day by the docks. I'm sorry you died. I'm sorry that I didn't stay. I'm sorry that..." That Uncle Ben died, wasn't exactly something he wanted to say in front of someone who didn't know who Uncle Ben was, so he internalized it. Which was the least healthiest thing to do in his situation. "I'm sorry that I did nothing while you did everything. You're a good person, Wade."

"I'm not a- you can't just go around ruining my reputation, Spidey, I'm blush- hey, since when do you call me Wade?"

Peter's eyes went wide. Shit. Spiderman didn't call Deadpool _Wade_. That was Peter Parker. This was going to be hard. "That's what it says on our friendship card. Wade Wilson. Yep. Haha."

"Right. Forgot." Wade shrugged, oblivious. "Anywho, I'm not a good person-"

"But-"

"And to make up for calling me that atrocious thing, you owe me a chimichanga. Are you in or are you out? You better be in, or I owe Yellow fifty bucks and Whitey a Strip Taco Bell trip."

Now, Peter could easily say no, and return to his normally scheduled program. Patrol for five and a half more hours and go home, or he could accept a killer's invitation to buying him food.

The choice was simple, really. It was a hard pass. But, instead, what came out of his mouth was: "Sure. I'm always up for food."

Wade beamed at him. "Let's go, muchacho!"

"Wade?"

"Yeah?"

"What's a Strip Taco Bell?"

"You have much to learn, young padawan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr ! @/slythershits && on ig @/wqlfstar

**Author's Note:**

> i’m going to aim to update once a week, but knowing me it probably won’t happen


End file.
